Hope Against Hope
by GregorytheImpaler
Summary: Just a quick, one-off I had in mind regarding my two troubled Warcraft kiddos. They both have the short end of the stick in many ways, but get by with differing concepts of hope. In light of the recent mess of Azeroth politics, I wanted to do something like this as a quick thing. Perhaps not as well written as my Hellsing work, but hopefully enjoyable a little.


The halls of the building used as a base of operations for the small Horde-based guild known as the Phoenix Accord sat almost entirely empty, dim candlelight from towering candelabras and hanging lamps gave a mild and soft illumination to an otherwise unlit quarters. Heavy footfalls from metal plated boots echoed. The Death Knight, usually firmly entrenched with his brethren in Acherus, had returned to the guild hall.

Sitting against the wall, though squarely in the center, the Warlock Koszmar wrote notes on a sheet of parchment. Rahab Icetide crossed through the room, avoiding chairs and tables, and ultimately standing nearby to the Forsaken. The irony that they two should be the only ones in the hall was not lost on him. Koszmar did not know their past, and Rahab intended to keep things that way. Instead, the Death Knight pulled a chair from the table, and set it against the wall beside Koszmar, though away by a small handful of feet.

Acknowledging the Sin'dorei with a nod and raise of the brow, the Warlock continued writing. "You're out of the Ebon Hold, I see. Good to see you around. As if our tiny crew weren't sparse enough, these recent events have certainly drawn the life out of this place." Ko considered his words, gave a smile of genuine amusement at the irony, and then shook his head once before continuing to write while talking to the Knight. "In a manner of speaking."

Rahab folded his arms. The Knight wore nearly all his armor, though the helmet was missing, allowing long, inky blue hair to cascade around his ears. There was a sigh from the armored elf. "It's not surprising, is it?" He spoke, his blue eyes flickering with red now and again. "That's what everyone here signed up for, right? Aiding the victims of war, regardless of who or what the cause. Congratulations on the promotion, by the way." Rahab's words were sincere. He felt a kinship for the group, but could not give the sort of dedication and time that someone like Koszmar could.

"Thank you." Ko answered simply. A short period of silence hung between them, before Koszmar spoke up again. "So, I imagine that it would need to be asked sooner or later.

Rahab's face remained stoic and unchanged, but his eyes turned to look at the Warlock.

Koszmar continued, "About this 'new war'. What is your take on it all?"

The Death Knight's folded arms loosened, and a hand reached for his head. "To be honest, Zycie, I don't think that any more talk of politics is wise." Fingerless gloves set a massive, smooth axe against the nearby stone wall, axe head on the floor, with the grip pointing upwards at a painting of Silvermoon city. Koszmar set his handcrafted Lordaeron-made pen down on the table, and sat upright in his chair. "But surely that is why you're here, isn't it? What brings you down from Acherus? I can't imagine it's the conversation." The undead ended with a self-directed dismissal at his own social amicability.

"Perhaps." Rahab answered quietly, eyebrows narrowed but the slightly degree, and the lines defining his cheeks, nose, and mouth turned in such a minor way that most would hardly notice the change. "What about you? What do you feel towards your faction? Your Warchief?" Koszmar frowned, and crossed his own arms in turn. Rahab's head now turned to face his comrade. The warlock had clearly pondered for a moment, but began to reply carefully. "I will follow our leaders, within reason. I suppose what the Dark Lady has said has some ugly truth to it. Even though I detest the burning, we will always be prey to the bigoted views of far too many of the Alliance. I don't agree, but at the same time, how can we allow ourselves to disappear?"

Rahab's eyes conveyed more emotion than intended, and he held a respect for the Warlock's thoughts. The two had never been friends, and while only Rahab could recall their long buried history, he had always stayed clear of the Forsaken while in their shared hall. "And what of the Alliance? While it's true that their opinion of many of our joint races are based purely on bigoted bias and ancient misplaced faults… do the Kal'dorei deserve extinction? Do the Dwarves? Or the people you came from under Stormwind's banner?"

Koszmar stood with a speed that belied his mildly decayed form. A hand planted on the table, not with force, but with statement. "Of course not! That is why I said that I did not feel that the burning was appropriate. Surely there were other-"

"Other ways? Other options?" Rahab stood in turn, although his motion was fluid, and militaristic. "Do you truly not understand, Warlock?"

Koszmar's eyes narrowed. What was the Death Knight trying to say? The Sin'dorei walked forward, and planted a heavy, midnight clad arm forward, gripping the Warlock's shoulder in a firmness that intended to convey reason, but also held something else. Support? Sympathy?

"Don't you see?" Rahab spoke, his words carrying a gentle sound of melancholy on it's breath as he released his grip. "We're the same. Not you and I. The Alliance and Horde. Haven't you seen how both factions rally? Many roil with disgust and hatred at the actions that have been carried out. Of course not all Horde citizens approve of the burning of Teldrassil. Do you think for one minute that every… last… human agreed with the Orc internment camps? Do you believe that every single Alliance citizen supported Greymane sacrificing his own people to try and kill Windrunner in Stormheim?"

The Death Knight turned away for a moment, looking at the flickering flames of the nearest candelabra. "Did you know that long ago, Proudmoore herself argued to Varian Wrynn that the Forsaken be taken back into the Alliance? Did you know that she defended Sylvanas and the Forsaken? And Wrynn turned your people away." Rahab's eyes noticed that this caught Koszmar's attention. "Ah. Now you understand. Unfortunately, despite all the talk of truces and peace, nobody wants to admit it."

Koszmar sat back down in his chair, and stared down at the list of names and resources that he had been carefully cataloging. A sort of inventory of people and resources that might be used to give relief to those on both sides of the war. Their little group was Horde-based, but they did their best to play the role of aid for any who might need it. The Death Knight lowered his head, before standing before the Forsaken Warlock.

"And that admission that everyone wants to avoid, is that we're all the same. It doesn't matter what banner we live under. Everyone wants to survive, and everyone blames their enemy colors with an undying rage and blind fervor. They refuse to acknowledge the wrongdoing of their own people and governments, while trying to play the noble little hero who loves all." The words came out harshly, but not mockingly. They were genuine and heartfelt, if not accompanied by a worrying tone of surrender.

"What of you?" Koszmar asked again. "You still haven't told me your opinion."

Rahab once again sighed, planting his hand on the armored straps along his waist and hips. "There's a reason I stay in Acherus, Koszmar." He allowed a fingerless gloved hand to reach below the neck of his chest plate, and draw out a pendant with the leather cord it was attached to. A cracked, dull Sin'dorei crest hung at the end. it was very aged, but clearly important to the knight. "I will always live for my people. The Sin'dorei people are my heart. But this war? All this outrage? it's a tired old game that everyone is far too keen to repeat over and over. It doesn't matter how many kindnesses you show. The other side will always find, embellish, or fabricate faults so that they can eliminate their enemy and be the victors through bloodshed."

"If you really must know, then the truth is that I have lost my love for the Horde and the Alliance both." Rahab's words echoed with a strange fluctuating tenor. "I stay in Acherus with my Death Knight brothers and sisters, because I do not believe that Azeroth can be saved. The Alliance in it's self-righteous delusion has damned itself to blind slaughter of itself, just as much as to the Horde. No differently than the Horde has allowed itself to pretend that it's confederation of desperate races is anything but a coalition to ensure survival in it's attempts to violently wrench the land from the Alliance."

An equally troubled and heavy breath emerged from the Death Knight's lips. Koszmar could hear it this time, whether Rahab had intended it or not. Rahab's voice sounded heavy with concession. "You are brave to believe that there is a chance that this world can be saved, my friend. But I do not believe it so. We never needed a Burning Legion to destroy Azeroth. We only needed _time_."

Rahab lifted his axe from the wall, and slung it in to the weapon-frog that kept it mounted on his back. His armored footsteps carried him to the front doorway, slowly and somberly. Koszmar could not find words. Just as Koszmar believed that there might one day be peace, it seemed that Rahab had resigned the world to oblivion in a sort of depressive fatalism. His head turned, and for a moment the ice blue eyes lingered on the Forsaken. It seemed as though he was about to speak, but instead he turned away and shut the door gently, leaving Koszmar alone in the hall with only his list and his thoughts.


End file.
